"Well, this is… wonderful…! You're still alive—how fierce you are! When I saw you fall from the sky, I truly thought my eyes were playing tricks on me… I never imagined an enemy could reduce you to such a state…"
On the central plains between Salisbury and Gloucester, the Wind Clan's army had set up a temporary encampment. Inside Clan Chief Aurora's large tent, she looked with deep concern at the heavily injured Woodwose.
"Klar, tend to him! Use the treasured magic powder!" she ordered her personal maid.
"…Ah… thank you, Aurora… You truly are… a beautiful fairy… To think I ever doubted you… shameful… mm… ah… ahh…"
Woodwose lay on the bed, speaking in broken fragments, offering both gratitude and apology. Even while marching, Aurora had ordered the entire army to halt just to provide him treatment.
"…It's no use. The hole in his chest won't close… even with magic powder…" the maid reported. "The scouts just delivered urgent news. Camelot has been taken by the Londinium army… If we don't advance soon—"
Shiomi's pseudo–Noble Phantasm released through the Holy Lance had gravely wounded Woodwose. Even the Star Lung couldn't complete its repair, and the self-healing ability the Fang Sub-Bell took pride in couldn't keep up with the rapid loss of life.
"Don't give up! Quickly—tell the military medic to bring concentrated medicine!" Aurora commanded sharply. "We cannot allow the one who stood against the evil God King for Britannia to die here! His millennia of effort must not end in tragedy!"
"Aurora… Aurora… ugh… I—I wronged you so deeply…" Woodwose said with tears, then abruptly struggled to question the maid.
"Camelot was taken by the God King… What of Her Majesty the Queen?"
"Um…" Maid Klar couldn't say it.
Aurora stepped in. "According to the scout's report, it seems Her Majesty offered no resistance before Camelot fell. The Fang Clan reinforcements have joined with the Wing Clan in an attempt to retake it, but…"
"…Her Majesty… didn't resist?" Woodwose couldn't believe it.
Since his birth as a Sub-Bell, he had seen Camelot fall twice. Yet Morgan had never once abandoned the fight. Even when certain the city couldn't be held, she would withdraw with her remaining forces, regroup, and reclaim Camelot—even if it had been left in utter ruin.
But this time… this time…
"Her Majesty and the God King of Londinium have a history… This isn't a rumor I heard second-hand." Aurora shifted tone, her expression heavy. "Perhaps these two thousand years of war, the blood of countless fairies from every clan… were all part of a scheme between Her Majesty and that God King…"
"Then… for what?" Woodwose asked, baffled.
But Aurora's words only let the seeds of doubt take deeper root.
"No one knows. Perhaps Her Majesty intends to abandon all clans. After wiping out all six, she may build a clan belonging to her alone—"
Aurora implied deliberately.
"…If that's the case… if that's really the case…"
Woodwose forced himself off the bed and staggered toward the exit.
"Woodwose, you should know this: if you're heading to Camelot, the underground vein corridors are far faster than traveling on the surface."
Aurora reminded him from behind, though whether the already staggering Woodwose heard her or not, no one could say.
…
Camelot, within the royal palace.
More than twenty hours had passed since Morgan sealed herself inside the Ice Coffin and Odin's proxy, Grímr, activated the ritual known as the Great God Altar.
Yet neither Scáthach and Artoria—who had just endured a brutal siege—nor Sakura and the others waiting in the palace could calm themselves enough to rest.
Romani, concerned for the girls' well-being, tried to suggest they take a short break as their doctor. But the fact that he refused to leave his own post made his advice far less convincing.
More importantly… Londinium's occupation of Camelot did not mean the conflict was over.
The ever-disciplined Londinium forces had already secured every important route and defensive position in the city, waiting for the God King's next command.
But no new orders came.
At the same time, the clan armies who never appeared during the siege finally arrived outside Camelot, launching yet another assault to "reclaim Camelot."
During the interim, Scáthach and Artoria inspected the defenses in three directions.
Morgan's Camelot truly was a fortress. Without fighters on the level of Shiomi or Morgan herself, the city gates' defenses could never be broken. Any attempt would only turn the attacking forces into fodder for the grinder.
In other words, there was no immediate need to fear the city being breached from within.
"How much longer, Mr. Grímr?" Baobhan Sith asked.
"No idea…" Grímr replied. "When Chaldea performed Rayshifts, how long did each one take?"
Sakura answered, "Chaldea would use Chaldeas to verify the Master's existence after the shift and establish communication—"
"So the flow of time was synchronized for both sides," Grímr concluded.
"But the current situation isn't the same as a Rayshift, is it?" Scáthach said. "It resembles it, but it's fundamentally something else."
"Exactly. So we can't compare them directly." Grímr looked toward Shiomi lying on the throne. "By the way, how long has that Morgan been in the 'past'?"
"If we count the present year as 2017… it's been twenty-three years." Sakura calculated. "From the day she descended into the Holy Grail War, Mother has never left."
"Mother?" Baobhan Sith froze for a moment. "Wait—this Chaldea woman… you're Father's daughter?"
"Yes," Sakura answered calmly.
The anxious air suddenly turned strange and quiet. Baobhan Sith glanced toward the corner of the council hall, where Caster and Pendragon—two Artorias—were deep in discussion.
It seemed that when the Lion King removed her helmet, Caster had been startled, then gradually understood what was happening. Now, driven by curiosity, she was exchanging thoughts with another version of herself from a different history.
"Looks like there's going to be a lot to talk about…" Baobhan Sith adjusted her glasses.
As her words ended, a cracking sound echoed from the Ice Coffin.
...
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